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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598795">Backfired</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellPig/pseuds/HellPig'>HellPig</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Gen, This is my first time writing for this fandom so uh-, feat. rusty pipe, idk how to tag this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:40:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,827</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598795</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellPig/pseuds/HellPig</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>So this was how he died? Put down like some old mutt who's back legs had gone lame, placed out on some cold table alone for Death's cold embrace. At least if he was a dog he'd been given something to put him to sleep first. No, instead he was meant to atone for his sins with the worst imaginable way to go right before he was sent to Hell. It was actually pretty ironic, the tormentor becoming the tormented.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>This takes place after you drop the bomb into Lucas's little hidey-hole, Lucas is down on his luck and things don't end well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Backfired</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't know, I spent 4 hours writing angsty shit in an empty Discord server. Enjoy I guess?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lucas let out a choked wail, scrabbling desperately to get the large pipe dislodged from his chest cavity; his broken, dirtied nails dug at the rusted metal as he felt the blood bubble and pool in his lungs and throat. His legs pushed wildly at the wood floor as animalistic growls and snarls were smothered under the sound of crackling wood and sizzling insulation, room filled with smoke that seized his already struggling lungs and burnt his nostrils with an otherwise pleasing scent. A frantic mind grasped for straws as Lucas looked for any way out- the pipe had been too tall to raise himself off of, even on the tips of his toes, and calling for help wasn't an option either as no one was around. Slack jawed and suffocating, Lucas clawed at the pipe even more, feeling the rust flake and infect his already corrupted system. </p><p>Hot, thick blood drenched Lucas's fingers and covered the lead piping that Jack had swore to get fixed a few years ago before, in his own words, shit hit the fan. He'd cursed the piping when the young inventor had made the barn his own little lair and every time he tried to use the water the pipes would hiss and clang and spatter before shooting out shit colored water into the sink; the faulty pipes and his own hubris seemed to damn him now as he choked on his own blood. Lucas never thought himself as stupid, nobody ever did, for he was quite intelligent- however, throwing a bomb into the room with his plaything wasn't his best plan now that he reflected on it. It was no matter now, for he was already in the midst of the consequences of misjudging the capabilities of the man who'd simply pried the boards off the wall and threw the dynamite into his office. How the explosion was strong enough to rip the piping up and effectively skewer him was a mystery that Lucas wasn't calm enough to figure out at the moment.</p><p>Gore and drool mixed haphazardly into a filthy concoction, dripping sluggishly off his lip and onto the already ruined hoodie.  Ignoring the intruding thought of having to throw his dearly beloved hoodie away once he got off the make-shift spike, <em>if</em> he got off of the spike, he focused on forcing the phlegm and blood from his throat. None of this would kill him, sadly, but he didn't find pleasure in choking on his own fluids like some sort of porn-star. It would be rather anticlimactic if the eldest and only son of the Baker family had been defeated with a simple water-pipe; Lucas wanted to go out with a bang, and this was not a bang- so instead of simply going limp and waiting for help, he continued to struggle and kick, to force his feral-like blue eyes to stay open and watch his hands pathetically slip and slide against the metal in an attempt to find purchase and freedom. Lucas could only imagine Ethan was watching from the debris of the birthday room, laughing at his misery just as he had, enjoying the show; maybe Ethan was just waiting for him to tire himself out so he could mock him without worry of having his neck broken the second he was in arms-reach. The idea only fueled the motivation to escape.</p><p>Slowly, as the last bits of viscous blood continued to ooze and drip onto the floor and the already spilt blood had dried and clotted, Lucas began to run out of steam, hands no longer clutching to the pipe. Harsh wheezes bubbling from the wetness of his throat and the occasional frustrated whimper were the only things that managed to escape him under the dying sounds of the fire. He hadn't seen Ethan pass through yet, and it honestly brought a wave of relief over him that the asshole didn't get to see him like this; broken and defeated, Lucas prayed he'd either went a different way or left under the guise of the smoke early on.</p><p>What felt like an hour passed and slowly, the muscle and tendons tiredly attempted to suture themselves around the obstacle, making it look as if the pipe was simply grafted to his chest instead of being hurdled at him like a sort of javelin and keeping him pinned to the wooden floorboards beneath. Lucas's legs had gone numb long before the chill of blood loss had set in, shivers rattling his spine as he was forced to stand for an ungodly amount of time in dingy darkness of the rubble of his hidey-hole. If he wasn't the man he was, he would've cried out for Marguerite or even Jack, but he knew they wouldn't come to help. They couldn't. He lost Zoe's trust 3 years ago and knew trying to butter her up with saccharine compliments and empty promises wouldn't work this time. Plus, she and Mia were both locked up in the boat-house waiting for their knight in shining armor, who would've probably taken advantage of the ridiculous situation to kick his teeth in if someone had presented Ethan the knowledge.</p><p>Lucas would have giggled at the thought if his throat wasn't sore from the constant itch to cough and hack up what felt like his own stomach. Instead, he simply settled to hang his head and close his eyes in an attempt to float away and ignore the throbbing ache in his chest and the numbing pain in his legs. The floor, drowned in his own blood, looked like a sea of crimson now, as if he'd been drained of every last drop and it left him even more corpse-like then he looked normally; pale skin became a deathly white, turning him into something like the Halloween props on display in the one neighbor's yard who'd always tried too hard with the SFX.</p><p>All of this would have at least been a little better if someone was there to talk to him, to keep him company on his sham of a deathbed. He was beginning to miss Eveline's presence, at least he could've used her to keep him from going any crazier then he already was. Finally, Lucas began to drift away with the encroaching exhaustion that creeped over his body.</p><p>The thud of combat boots and the shuffle of military armor was what woke Lucas up initially, the harsh beam of the flashlight blinding his weary eyes only startling him into alertness. Squinting was only a futile attempt at saving his already blurry eyesight. Someone was speaking, maybe even multiple people, but all that reached his ears was warbled and undistinguishable. A sharp sting met this face and everything zeroed in at once, the static releasing it's grip on his frazzled mind only slightly. He only recognized the Umbrella Corp logos for a moment before his gaze was forced right onto one of the soldier's faceless helmets. Lucas's warped reflection stared back at him from the visor of the boot boy's helmet; he looked like shit. That made him snicker, throwing himself into another coughing fit.</p><p>"Where's Eveline, Lucas." Ah, yes, that voice. Lucas would never fail to recognize the gruff, superhero like voice.</p><p>"Dunno, go look for her yerself, Christopher," Lucas struggled to force the words out, voice raspy and zombie-like, "I ain't yer cadaver dog"</p><p>Another sting met his face, the rough palm of Redfield's gloved hand meeting his cheek. "Tell me Lucas, I'm not playing games anymore."</p><p>Lucas felt tears spring to the corners of his eyes. He grunted, testing if he could get off the pipe for the last time just in case as he growled out an answer, "I'll think about it, why dontcha come back later when my schedule's free, huh?" Lucas flinched this time when Chris raised his hand and curled his fingers into a tight fist. "Now."</p><p>"Fine, I don't fuckin' know, okay? I been clean for 2 years, I ain't seen her since, now would you lay off!" Lucas snarled, legs wobbling underneath him. Chris stared him in the eyes through the mask before giving a disappointed sigh. Lucas kept his glare on him until Chris gestured for one of the other soldier's to come forward. The second the syringe was pulled from a small case on the man's tactical belt, Lucas gained a whole new wave of strength and desperately began to clamber for escape again, disturbing the snail paced healing.</p><p>"Hey wait, get that fuckin' thing away from me! The fuck are you doin'?!" Lucas used what bit of strength he had to force the guard away, too focused on him to realize a second guard coming to restrain his arms and pull his head to the side. Lucas kicked and thrashed, skin breaking once more and blood cascading over the prior layer of blood that had crusted over the surface of the pipe, animalistic growls and snarls ripping from his throat as the rest of the guards made their way down the path Ethan took to get to Mia and Zoe. With little trouble, the guard sunk the needle of the syringe into the vein and injected the necrotoxin.</p><p>A strangled cry left Lucas' throat as he was released, legs finally giving out and forcing him to slide all the way down the pipe and to his knees. Lucas sobbed as the necrotoxin attacked his system, quickly doing it's work to kill everything off, rampaging through him like the fire that had burnt through the room not that long ago. Tears spilled over and streaked Lucas's face, leaving trails across his dirtied skin as he screamed and tore his vocal chords. The agony took over everything, every nerve in his body lighting up as his body began to calcify and harden. So this was how he died? Put down like some old mutt who's back legs had gone lame, placed out on some cold table alone for Death's cold embrace. At least if he was a dog he'd been given something to put him to sleep first. No, instead he was meant to atone for his sins with the worst imaginable way to go right before he was sent to Hell. It was actually pretty ironic, the tormentor becoming the tormented.</p><p>Lucas's hand scrambled for anything to grab hold of, like some 5 year old blindly looking for their mother in the dark after the power went out during a storm, fingers finally latching around the ankle of one of the boots of the soldiers. Clutching and never letting go, the necrotoxin finally froze his vocal chords, silencing his agony filled screams and putting an end to the last remaining Baker. The soldier pried his foot away from the statue of the infamous Lucas Baker, causing the poetic looking figure of the hunched man speared on a spike to crumble and spread across the blood covered floor.</p><p>The room was finally quiet.</p>
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